


Snow and Sand

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Julian Bashir, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28258053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: The war is over, and Julian is alone on Earth after Garak rejected his offer to stay and help on Cardassia. It turns out he may not be the only one who regrets what happened.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	Snow and Sand

It smelled like ice.

A sharp, cold, acrid smell that was difficult to define other than _metallic._ It froze Julian’s nostrils and sat on the back of his tongue like a lump of snow hiding in shade after everything else had melted away.

What surprised him was that he actually liked it.

He’d never been one to appreciate cold weather before. Winter was never his favorite season; the bitter winds, limited hours of diminished sunlight, and stark black outlines of trees always put him in a darker mood. It seemed so empty and indifferent to warmth and growth. Lifeless.

Perhaps his decades spent in space had changed him, acclimated him to subzero temperatures and scenery leached of color.

Perhaps he’d simply grown, and learned to appreciate the diversity of the universe and all it had to offer.

Or, perhaps… it was just that the bleak outer landscape matched his desolate inner one.

Which wouldn’t really explain why he suddenly developed an affinity for the smell of frozen water, but he didn’t care enough to examine the thought any further.

His mind wandered, as it had all too often lately, back to Garak.

Garak, on Cardassia, covered in sand and grit, blood and mud, all indistinguishable from one another and smeared across his body. 

Garak, picking through the broken walls and beams of a fallen bakery, and refusing help even when a chunk was clearly too heavy for him to be lifting.

Garak, eyes haunted in the low light of evening, listening as Julian confessed his love and claimed that he wanted them to be together. Wanted to be there for him, to rebuild with him, to fight tooth and claw against the devastation wreaked by the Dominion and carve out a new life with him.

Garak, telling him that there was nothing there for a human to live off of. That he was too busy surviving to “entertain a guest.” That he hadn’t been invited, would only get in the way.

That he didn’t love Julian back.

The doctor stood at the corner of the road outside his flat and stared blankly out at the park across the way. He hadn’t even made it 10 meters from his building yet, and he was already lost in thought. He considered turning around and going back inside, seeing as the sun set earlier and earlier every day. But he’d promised Miles that he’d take a walk at 0300 hours every afternoon, just to get some fresh air, and it was already 0330. He also knew that he was in danger of sliding into a depressive episode--may in fact already be in one--and that he needed to take care of himself to fight it. Resolute, he stepped off the curb and crossed the thoroughfare.

The wind knifed across his face and hands, the latter of which he dug into his pockets. He hunched his shoulders and succeeded in blocking his neck, but desperately wished he’d worn his scarf again. The adaptations passed down to him from his ancestors just weren't cut out for this type of weather. 

A quarter of a mile in, he found someone sitting stiffly on a bench in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position. They were covered from head to toe in layers of material, all tones of forest green and mustard yellow, fabrics very thick and textured. There was something about the posture that felt vaguely familiar, although it was impossible to decipher any identifying characteristics beneath the puffed-up parka and large wool scarves.

He stole a glance over as he passed, curious as to who was buried inside.

It was the blue eyes that caught him off guard.

A bright cornflower blue that matched Earth’s sky on clearer, friendlier days. Framed by gray ridges.

He stumbled on the path and turned his whole body to face the bundle of textiles. “ _Garak?”_

The face lifted sluggishly upward to regard him. “Waiting f--for you,” a raspy voice muttered between chattering teeth. “Late--” A violent spasm shook his whole body.

“Oh god, let’s get you inside.” Julian grabbed an arm and heaved up, staggered by how heavy and slow the Cardassian was moving. It was like dragging a tortoise out of a mound of sand. He ducked under an arm and wrapped his own roughly around where the waist would be and started shuffling forward. Garak helped a little, but his feet barely moved with each step.

They made their way back through the park and across the road in what felt like an hour, but turned out to be a little less than twenty minutes. The walk to the lift and ride up were completely silent, and he checked repeatedly to make sure Garak was at least still conscious. He swayed precariously but remained vertical.

Once inside, Julian sized up the situation. “Alright, your clothes are dry, but all the outer layers are cold from being outside, so let’s get those off. Then we’ll put you in bed and cover you up with a bunch of blankets.”

His companion didn’t complain, didn’t even respond, just let him remove the hat, scarves, and coat, the boots and fleece-lined trousers. At least he’d made an attempt to dress sensibly for the climate.

“You h-have a v-v-very nice place here,” Garak mumbled as he was led into the bedroom.

“It’s a rental; none of it’s mine,” Julian replied absently. He guided his guest into the bed and under the blankets before digging through drawers and closets to find more. 

“I kn-knew the dec-c-or was too n-nice for your t-taste.”

He rolled his eyes and returned with a small stack, which he set at the end of the bed. He flicked one cover open and spread it over Garak’s form, and repeated it with the other two, briefly contemplating whether he should shove some pillows underneath to create a nice nest around the trembling body. Instead, he left to turn up the thermostat and dialed up some dairy-free hot chocolate.

When he came back, Garak had turned onto his side and rolled into the foetal position, and one of the pillows was hiding his head.

Julian set the mugs on his nightstand and kneeled down to glance into the ashen gray face peeking out. “How are you doing?”

“C-cold. But warming up.”

He pulled out a tricorder and ran a scan. “Your body temperature is very low, but it’s not at critical levels, thank goodness. Do you think you could sit up to drink something?”

Baleful eyes stared back as Garak shook his head in the negative, the pillow covering him flapping back and forth.

Julian rested his arm on the bed and set his chin on it. He was too concerned at the moment to be upset, too surprised to be angry. “Well, you’re going to make it, despite being a mostly ectothermic humanoid who decided to visit Ireland in February.” He sighed. “It’s going to take a while for you to warm up. Would you like me to read you something? Or just leave you alone? I could get you some food.”

He mentally inventoried what he had in the kitchen that might be helpful. Chicken noodle soup, an old pizza that could be warmed up, some deli items that could be made into a sandwich and toasted. Fresh food was so much more filling than replicated, although in this situation...

“Julian.”

It was the first time Garak used his name. Even on Cardassia, he’d still said “Doctor.”

He fought past the constriction in his chest. “Yes, Garak?”

A hand snaked out from under the blankets and covered his. The Cardassian opened his mouth to speak, shut it again. He blinked furiously a few times, and then tears were streaming down his face.

Julian watched in amazement, then turned around to grab a small box of tissues from nearby, careful to leave his hand still in place. He used one to dab at Garak’s face, still under the pillow, and the hand over his gripped convulsively as the frozen body shook in silent sobs.

Without thinking, Julian raised the covers and climbed into the bed next to Garak, pulling him close in to his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, it’ll be okay,” he murmured over and over again, rubbing at arms, shoulders, and back as soothingly as he could. The head tucked against him keened quietly, and he petted the sleek back hair like he’d always wished someone would do to him.

They lay there for a short while in the fragile stillness, and Julian occasionally passed over another tissue for Garak to wipe at his nose or eyes and hand back. Between the higher temperature in the apartment, his own winter garments, and the several layers covering them, he felt like he was starting to overheat, but the body next to his was still cooler than it should be, and he just couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Eventually, Garak separated himself and moved back until they could face each other. He looked into Julian’s eyes, first one then the other, and seemed to wage some internal battle as to what he wanted to say. Julian waited patiently, aware that it must be something important, deeply so, to have dragged his friend from the home he’d craved to return to for a decade. He was afraid to hope that it would have anything to do with him, and yet it _must_ , right? Or was it just that Garak had no one else to go to?

“Julian, I was… I was searching through an abandoned office. It was falling apart, but it had some very valuable isolinear rods that I could trade for supplies. There were some orphans helping me. I- I shouldn’t have brought them along.” He took a shaky breath. “They wandered away to explore, and… there was a crash. A whole section of the building collapsed, and it- it…” His eyes screwed shut. “Two of the orphans were crushed. One died immediately, and the other a few minutes later. There wasn’t even time for me to get a doctor. Julian…”

The pain in his voice scratched across Julian’s heart, and he scooted closer to kiss Garak’s forehead. He didn’t know what to say. Even in all his years as a physician, there really wasn’t anything you could do to alleviate the pain of watching someone die. It took time to forget, to grow beyond. All he could do was be there, and listen. “I’m right here, Garak,” he whispered into the ridged skin. 

A hand covered his again, and this time it squeezed so hard he could feel his bones grate against each other.

Garak leaned back, his eyes open again. “I don’t want to do this alone, Julian. I _can’t_ do it alone. I--” He looked down. “I need you.”

_I went to you,_ he replied in his head. _I TRIED helping you, and you turned me away._ “What is it you need from me?” he asked warily.

“I need- I want…” He shook his head. “I would like it if you could come back to Cardassia, Julian. If it is at all possible.”

Julian shut his eyes, needing a minute to replay what he’d said. To think. Garak was asking him to come back. To join him on Cardassia. To… to what, exactly? Feeling horribly selfish, he asked, “You don’t have any friends there?”

“I have… friendly acquaintances. Neighbors, a few of my old contacts from my days in the Order. People who I trust enough to regularly trade with. But none of them are you.”

“Me?”

“You. Julian Subatoi Bashir.”

Feeling suddenly overwhelmingly stifled, he pulled out of the bed and stood up. “I went to Cardassia. I found you, even though you didn’t seem to want to be found. I offered to stay and help for as long as needed.” He hugged himself. “Forever, if necessary.”

Garak was silent. 

Julian wanted to go back. He wanted to go somewhere that he was truly needed, whether by the general populace or only one person. Somewhere new and exciting, building out of the ashes of a previous empire, like his first days on Deep Space Nine. A place where conversations _meant_ something, not just shallow platitudes and empty small talk. A place that he’d read about in dozens of novels, and had been narrated to him in exacting, loving detail until he’d come to desire seeing it just as much as the person describing it.

Even if it meant only going as a friend.

He dropped his head. “If I went, where would I stay?”

“With me.”

It was the shortest sentence he’d ever heard Garak say.

“In your tent?”

“I have a house now. A small one. I helped build it.”

Clinging to the familiarity of their old banter, Julian tried a smile. “It must be very stylish, then.”

Garak shook his head. “No. But it does have a garden in the back. Vegetables, mostly, but a few flowers, too.”

“Do you have a cot for me to sleep on? A pallet on the floor?” It was a silly question, trivial. Julian could easily bring something of his own. But he was desperately hoping for a different answer, and he couldn’t help himself.

“I do not. But I do have a rather large bed. I smuggled it piece by piece out of a crumbling mansion. The mattress was destroyed, so it’s sparsely padded, but there is room for two.”

He didn’t dare hope. It hurt too much to hope. He walked over to the window and stared at the empty park, watched a scrap of something blow by in the breeze. The heat in the room was so thick that he wanted to rest his brow against the cold panes of glass for a moment of relief. “You could have just made a subspace call,” he spoke to his reflection. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

Julian turned back towards the bed, where Garak was struggling to sit up. He tucked several pillows behind his back and pulled the blankets tight around his waist, but his chest and arms were still exposed, and he shivered visibly. Sighing, Julian grabbed his robe from where it hung on the lavatory door, and draped it over the Cardassian. He sat down on the bed next to him, this time on the other side. “Of course I’d answer. You’re my friend. Just like Miles and Ezri.” 

God, he missed Jadzia. She would have helped him through this. She would have had advice from one of her many lives, would have had the right joke to lighten the mood. He missed Captain Sisko, too. The man had been more of a father to him than any person he shared blood with, a solid, dependable figure who cared deeply for everyone under his protection. He hoped there was some vestige of him out there still, among the Prophets in their temple. Maybe even watching over him in some nonlinear way.

“You’re my friend, Garak.” He repeated softly.

“You’ve been a far better friend than I deserved, Doctor,” Garak replied. “I regret not being the same to you.” He pulled the robe tighter around himself. “And I regret having lied to you, however altruistic I believed my motives to be.”

Julian looked away. He’d felt barely a twitch at the tiny glimmer of hope hinted in what had been said. His days of youthful optimism and naivete were far behind him now. Besides, lying was what Garak did; it came to him as naturally as breathing. Getting the truth out of him was about as likely as drawing water from a stone. “It’s alright, Garak. I don’t hold it against you.”

“But you should! You resigned from Starfleet, sold your possessions, and tracked me down to lay your heart at my feet, and I rather callously buried it in the sands and sent you on the next shuttle out. A sacrifice like that demands an equal offering, and I gave you none.”

Julian turned to him, frowning. “I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated to me. I guess it never even occurred to me that you might not feel the same way I did. Here I was, making a grand gesture, and you were just trying to scavenge enough to stay alive. I’m such a cad!” He started to get up again but was held back by a hand on his shoulder.

“Julian no, that’s not what I meant. You brought me so many gifts: the first aid kits, the water filters, the seeds. Your service and skills. Yourself. The least I could have repaid you with was the truth.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the truth.”

“I do, when the occasion arises.” Garak cleared his throat. “Might I trouble you for some redleaf tea?”

Grateful to have a minute to himself, Julian retreated to the kitchen and started brewing a cup. He paced back and forth until the water boiled. Just what was it that Garak was trying to say? Why did everything have to be so difficult with him? He packed a bag of leaves and dropped it in to steep, and carried it back to the room.

The Cardassian raised his brows in surprise. “You have fresh redleaf? How did you come by that?” He took the mug gratefully, wrapping both hands around the ceramic and sucking in a deep breath of fragrant steam.

“I bought it at the shuttleport, before I left Cardassia. I wanted to remember it, well _you_ , and I knew it was your favorite, so…” Julian shrugged. He’d always wondered what Garak would smell and taste like, and seeing as he would never find out, he’d bought the leaves to carry the next best thing back home with him. But he hadn’t had a home, and ended up roaming around aimlessly until Miles had invited him back to Earth for a trip to Ireland. Then the O’Briens returned to San Francisco, and Julian remained behind, because he didn’t want to face the home of Starfleet after having left it and had nowhere else to go.

Garak sipped thoughtfully at his tea. He nodded in appreciation, then set it aside. “Might I tell you a story, Doctor?”

“Alright, then.” 

“It’s a children’s tale, called ‘The Baker and the Riding Hound.’ There once was a baker who lived next to a gul. The gul had a riding hound who followed him around and did his bidding. But he wasn’t very kind to it, and whenever he was gone, it left the house to wander the city. One day, the baker found it nosing through some scraps in his alley and tossed it some leftover zabu from a stew he’d been making. It ate everything up and returned the next day for more, and the next. The baker noticed how it seemed to perk up whenever it visited, how it seemed to delight in finding ways to get every last bit of food out of whatever container was left for it. So he started making puzzles and obstacles for it, each of which it solved. Sometimes, in the evening, it came to his door as he closed up, and it simply sat with him as he cleaned the shop and reviewed his finances, and they’d watch the sun go down. They developed a friendship. The gul knew, vaguely, that the hound spent time in the baker’s company, but as long as it did its job and came home every night, he didn’t complain. But the baker found a new shop, a better one, and he decided to move his business across town. When the hound found him gone, it was confused at first. It waited for him to return, but he didn’t. And so it followed what scent it could catch, and tracked him all the way to his new shop. And there it remained.”

The story felt deliberately unfinished. “And then what happened?”

“It depends on who you ask. Some say they lived out their lives happily, the hound defending the baker, the baker bathing and feeding the hound. That they occasionally rode deep into the hills together and hunted for the rarest beasts to cook into delicacies that made the baker famous across the district. That would be the version told to me by the man I believed to be my father, Tolan. The other ending was that because the Gul was left unguarded, he was executed by a jealous rival, and the baker and hound were shunned from the community. They disappeared in shame into the desert never to be heard from again. That is, of course, how Tain told it to me.”

“And which do _you_ think it was?” 

Garak shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe neither. Maybe both.”

Julian groaned in frustration. “I’m no one’s riding hound, Garak, least of all the Federation’s. And I don’t plan on being _your_ pet, either. I wouldn’t go following you around or sitting around under your table begging for scraps.”

“Nor would I expect you to.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t _have_ any scraps for you in the first place.”

Julian crossed his arms. “I can find my own; I’m not helpless. Look, the hound _could_ have gone off on its own and hunted voles, right? But it didn’t. It chose the baker for the companionship, because it preferred him. And I wanted to be on Cardassia because I enjoyed _your_ companionship.”

Garak studied the designs on the uppermost blanket and traced one with his finger. “What if I told you that the story was actually by Iloja of Prim, and it was a glinn, not a hound?”

Julian waited for a beat, absorbing the implications. “Then I’m sure a whole lot more riding took place than your story alluded to.” The scandalized look on Garak's face was worth it. Feeling the tension break, Julian rounded back to the other side of the bed to take a sip of his now cool hot cocoa. It was still thick and rich, and he savored it for a moment before taking a seat on the wrinkled blankets. “You better not be saying that you turned me away because you couldn’t take care of me.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, Doctor. I’ve seen the evidence on more than one occasion. But it disturbed me all the same.”

Julian put down his mug so he could turn to face Garak. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“To… take care of me?”

A sharp nod, eyes averted. “And look where I am now,” the Cardassian said bitterly. “I wasn’t even able to take care of myself.”

Julian heaved a sigh of exasperation. “You wouldn’t have had to if you’d let me stay. I would have been there for the scavenging, the planting, the building. I would have made sure you got enough to eat and drink, and bandaged your wounds. And you would have done the same for me. We’d depend on each other. That’s how societies work, how _relationships_ work. Whether coworkers, families, friends, or… or more than friends. No one needs to stand alone.”

“Truly a Federation standpoint if ever there was one,” Garak griped tiredly.

“And what’s so wrong with it?”

“Nothing, Doctor. Not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Julian, the Cardassia I grew up on was a very different place. It was honor-bound and constrained, yes, but also heartless and remote. We all did our part for the Union and gave it our unadulterated loyalty with the understanding that everything it did was in our best interest. There was no friendship between Cardassians, only duty to the State, and the State’s duty to its citizens. There were a few exceptions, of course, especially among the Service Class, but _overall_ we each lived a solitary existence. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t one of the reasons my people hated the Bajorans. We envied their close-knit connections, their wanton displays of affection. We desired it yet were denied, and so we did our best to take it away from them.”

“Garak, _you_ didn’t do that personally. You can’t take the blame for everything that happened during the Occupation.”

“No, I didn’t. But I didn’t stop it, either. And to some extent I believed they deserved it, that they really were just less evolved than us. But now that the war is over, now that I’ve spent time in Major Kira’s company, and Ziyal’s, I’m finally coming to understand the strength that lies in a community like theirs. In networks and friendships. In supporting one another through hard times. Before, Cardassia was a pyramid of stone blocks: sturdy, solid, nearly infallible. But it was also rigid and immutable, which meant that it could never grow or change. It could only be worn down by the sands of time. _Now…_ Now, Julian, there are webs forming across the countryside and cities alike. Every person is linked with a dozen others, and if one strand breaks, the web still holds. In a pyramid, if a block is removed, at least half of the stones above it come tumbling down. _This_ Cardassia is so much stronger, and will last infinitely longer. But I feel as if I’m still a stone, and I’m weighing everyone else down.”

Tentatively, Julian brushed his hand over Garak’s. “But you helped to _start_ that Cardassia. You were part of the revolution that got it there. Of course you’re a stone; you’re one of the pillars! You can’t be weighing them down, because you’re holding them up. None of that would exist without you.”

Caught in his misery, Garak pressed his lips together. “That still leaves me separate. I want to be _inside_ the web, Julian. I want to be joined to others. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“There’s something I don’t understand, then. If you don’t want to be alone, if you want to connect with everyone, then why did you leave?”

“Because you’re one of the people I want to join with, my dear. I want to be linked with you, now and always. To twine the threads of our lives together until they are inseparable. You were the first strand of my web, all those years ago in the first days of Deep Space Nine, and you remain the most important one.”

Julian slid closer. “You were the first strand of my web, too, you know.” He leaned on the hand that was next to Garak’s, and the mattress dipped in until their fingers touched. “You were my first friend. I know that in the beginning you were just using me for information and to relay messages to the Federation, but it still made me feel important. Although to this day, I’m still not sure what made you choose me.”

“Would you believe me if I said you bear an uncanny resemblance to a riding hound?”

“Oho, really? Are you sure you don’t mean a glinn?”

“The same thing for all practical purposes," Garak sniffed.

“Only practical? What about theoretical, philosophical, metaphorical?”

“Don’t overextend yourself.”

Movement from outside the window caught Julian’s eye. It had started snowing, a fluttery white sprinkle in the gray. “What if I _like_ overextending myself?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, my dear.”

“Garak?”

“Mmm?”

“Could I join you under the covers again? I have body heat and enough to spare.”

Garak paused. “I believe that I am sufficiently warm now. But please do anyway.”

Heart in his throat, Julian got up from the bed to pull his shirt over his head and toss it on the floor. Making eye contact with his companion, he undid and dropped his trousers as well. Garak watched avidly the whole time, and made room for him in the bed as he slid back down. Clad in nothing more than flannel boxers, he slid under the blankets and moved as close as he dared. On his side, he braced himself, both physically and mentally. 

“So forgive me for being repetitive, but let me summarize what I think you’ve been saying, to make sure I’ve got it right.” He swallowed. “When I came to you on Cardassia, you told me to leave because… because you didn’t feel like you would be able to give me what you wanted to.” Although he still wasn’t entirely clear on what that was. “But you realized that…” He stopped. Everything that wanted to come out of his mouth sounded too trite and too painful. Garak realized he was lonely? That he missed Julian? That he was making himself into an island? He wracked his brain for the right words to say. How would _Garak_ put it? Ah.

“You came to appreciate the benefits of companionship,” he finished triumphantly. “And you decided that you would like me to be one of your companions.”

“I believe that you oversimplified the narrative, but yes, that is the essence of it.”

It felt like an enormous weight was lifted from Julian, and he could breathe again. Finally, they were getting somewhere. 

There was just one more thing to bring out in the open. “And what sort of companion would I be?” 

Julian had gone to Cardassia prepared to accept any of at least four possibilities for his role: as just a friend, as a lover, as a lifetime partner, or--if Garak’s people hadn’t yet overcome their xenophobia--a secret consort. He was still open to each, but it would be best to know which he was walking (flying?) into.

Garak’s silence sat heavy between them. It felt odd, misplaced. Even during the toughest times, the spy-turned-tailor had always kept a light tone, had plied the conversation with quips. Always ready with a comeback or an insinuation. For him to remain mute for so long meant that either what he had to say was incredibly important, or that he didn’t know what to say altogether.

Or… maybe he was still a little sluggish from his drop in body temperature, and Julian should just be patient. He chided himself for his impatience, something Garak had often done in days gone by.

After a minute more, Garak spoke. “Julian, my dear. I must admit I had hoped to kiss you before having this conversation.”

Something wild and expectant leapt inside his chest. “It’s not too late.”

He watched microexpressions flit across his friend’s visage: a brief widening of the eyes, a twitch of the jaw, a flare of the nostrils. Did his face look the same?

A gray, calloused hand emerged from the blankets to cup his cheek. It was several degrees lower than he would have preferred, but it was _Garak’s_ hand, and he nuzzled into it. The thumb traced over his cheekbone, where the bottom of a Cardassian’s ring of eye ridges would be ending. His bottom eyelid tickled as the nail swept across his lashes. Garak’s fingers tilted back, and they curled around his ear. He was tugged forward so gently that he was already leaning in before he realized what was happening.

His eyes fluttered shut a second before they met. For all they’d been through together, from flirting and innuendo to imprisonment and near-death experiences, it was far gentler than he would have expected their first kiss to be. Hesitant, exploratory, feather-light. A brush across his lips that left him burning, yearning, _aching_ for more. On the return stroke he dove in eagerly, grabbing Garak by the shoulders to hold him in place and take his fill of the redleaf-flavored mouth and delve in search of that masterful tongue.

His companion let out a muffled gasp of surprise before meeting him hungrily back for one moment… two… three. Julian’s head swam dizzily and his spine lit up from nape to waist.

But then Garak pulled away and braced a hand on his chest to hold a distance between them. “My… My dear. Your body leaves little room for doubt as to your physical desires.” His blue eyes searched hopefully. “Do your emotional ones still remain unchanged from when you first came to see me?”

_Of course they do,_ he wanted to say. But it would be best to make himself absolutely clear. 

Julian looked at the frigid, swirling white mess outside his window and wished it--and Miles, and Earth--farewell. “Garak, I love you. I have for some time now, and I’m confident I will for years to come. I want to read with you, learn with you, and greet every new day as a challenge with you. If you’ll have me, I promise to be yours- mind, body, and soul.” He’d fretted over these words, practiced them endlessly, written and rewritten them over and over again... and now that they were out, he knew they rang with the conviction of absolute truth.

And 6 years down the road, when they celebrated their 5-year wedding anniversary in the newly-opened Cardassia Prime Federation Embassy Gardens, Julian spoke the same vows again.

_Fin_


End file.
